


The Crestfallen

by BonBons_and_Bourbons



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Adventure, Byleth is a sad bean, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Baggage, F/F, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Justice for Sothis, Peril, Post-Golden Deer Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Slow Romance, The church is clearly using Byleth, spoilers for all routes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:22:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25782820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BonBons_and_Bourbons/pseuds/BonBons_and_Bourbons
Summary: As the Golden Deer House celebrated their victory and the end to the five-year war, Byleth was crowned the leader of Fódlan and both Claude and Rhea’s successors. But she didn't want it. She is in a land she never knew, with customs she never followed and a church she never celebrated. With her friends scattered to their homes and Seteth refusing to back down, it seems she is really out of her depth. Even more so when a new voice starts to whisper in the dark.
Relationships: Marianne von Edmund/Hilda Valentine Goneril, My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 8
Kudos: 35





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve set this after the end to the GD route, with some tweaks. Spoilers for all routes though as I'll be incorporating knowledge of characters across routes. Whilst there is a hint at Claude/Byleth in this chapter, I've made it so they never achieved S Support and thus no rings were exchanged. Then he y’know goes to Almyra so their romance is never really solidified. I also dislike that in their final support it says he returns from Almyra in a few months when I feel like it would take him longer (it took 5+ years to do Fódlan, Almyra can’t take 5 months!). However, the focus here for now is Byleth dealing with her newfound power without the support system she has always had. Also when Hilda and Marianne are featured, I will not apologise for my rampant shipping.

_Ethereal Moon_

Seteth had tried, he really had. He had done away with the strictness, the scowls and the lurking he had spent centuries perfecting in favour of the warm and fuzzy approach. Acceptance, patience and tolerance were now his creed – at least until he sat in the advisory room staring down the deadpan Byleth. She was really testing his newfound mirth.

“As the leader of Fódlan, it is your responsibility to lead the ceremony for Saint Cichol Day,” he jabbed a finger at the horizon. “Hundreds will come to Garreg Mach to celebrate this day, not only for their faith, but as the first celebration since the Nemesis’ defeat.”

Byleth’s pale eyes stared at him unblinking for an unsettling moment. She never looked quite at ease, standing stiff and her lips pressed into a firm line. Many had come to know this as her resting face, somewhere between pensive and disinterested. Perhaps no one knew the real one, hidden in her shadows. He certainly didn’t.

“I might have been left in charge of Fódlan, but I am not the archbishop,” the unspoken hung in the air: _I am not Rhea._ “I can’t lead this ceremony – I don’t know anything about it. Why don’t you lead it?”

Between them, Flayn stood wide-eyed and hands bunched together, trying to placate the growing argument. “You could lead it Father, you would do so well!”

“Flayn,” he hushed her as his eyes scanned every corner of the room. “We do not use that word here.”

“She has a point though; it is _your_ saint day.” Byleth chimed in.

“I am not the one who was trusted with the safety and wellbeing of the people. The people need this ceremony; they need the chance to forget the last five years and look to the future–”

“What the people _need_ is the truth,” the sharpness on her words splintered his argument. It wasn’t quite malicious, but there was an edge to Byleth that grew sharper each day. Was this Claude’s lasting influence, or Jeralt’s disdain for the church? “You still have not released the books you kept from the library nor the truth about the relics.”

Seteth tried to recover and stay calm, cool, collected – warm and fuzzy. “It would be too much at once; we cannot tear down their beliefs so suddenly. Fódlan has only just recovered from the Empire’s influence and who knows what would happen if the comfort of this religion was taken away.”

“Can comfort really be taken in lies?” She quipped, eyes boring holes into his own. “This goddess they worship and adore is not Sothis.”

The name ricocheted around the room like fire. It scorched Seteth and burnt down his composure. It caught Flayn and fuelled her anxiety. It even stung Byleth herself, the words searing her throat. She had not spoken the name in so long. Speaking it only deepened the hollow in her heart. It was strange to miss the voice in your head and yet she did.

It was Flayn who ruptured the silence, quite uncharacteristically. She really hated seeing the two clash. “I would be happy to lead the ceremony.”

“You would?” A small smile curled Byleth’s lips. She’d gained an ally and a way out of this. “I suppose you were probably there when Saint Cichol Day was created, you must know the ceremony inside and out.”

“Of course, I have the scripture memorised!” The shorter girl beamed and practically clapped her hands in self-applause for solving the problem.

Seteth pinched the bridge of his nose and sucked air through his teeth. His whistle of frustration went unnoticed as his daughter babbled on about how she would perform the ceremony and honour her beloved father. Byleth just egged her on. He was always endlessly impressed by these two women, his remaining family: by their capacity for good and joy, as well as their capacity to annoy him.

“Fine,” he extended out the syllable before making his way to the door. “Flayn and I will attend the celebration in your stead. Whilst we are away, you will study the library’s guides to monthly ceremonies and sermons. I will have the books delivered to your quarters and quiz you on these when we return. Come now Flayn, we must prepare.”

The two green blurs vanished before Byleth could protest. She had won the battle, but the war was still ongoing. She breathed a sigh she hadn’t realised she was holding in and slumped into the nearest chair. It had only been four months since the battle at the Calendonian Plateau; since she watched the supposedly dead Fell King rise and then fall again; since she had said goodbye to Claude.

**_\---_ **

He had planned to sneak away quietly, supposedly to avoid all the fuss – he would never admit he hated goodbyes. But Hilda caught him as he tried to mount the courtyard wall (because even saying goodbye to the gate keeper would be too much) and dragged him to their old classroom. Everyone piled in with big grins and teary eyes. Raphael wept so much, his shirt was soaked, and he ripped it off because it just made his muscles sad too. Ignatz panicked as he searched for tissues and replacement shirt. Leonie laughed as she retold a classic Claude caper and knocked Lorenz off his chair when he made a disparaging comment. Marianne twisted her fingers and for the briefest of moments, looked up at Claude and whispered the softest _thank you._ Hilda called him a jerk, pulled him into an overly aggressive hug and then sniffled until Marianne offered her a handkerchief even though she was _definitely not sobbing_.

That left Claude shuffling outside and for the first time in half a decade, at a loss for words as he smiled at Byleth. The smile wasn’t forced nor was the silence uncomfortable. There were just too many things to say and no words at all. It was just like five years ago, bubbling with excitement over the grand ball and the future, making promises to meet again. He hadn’t thought about the future much since then, but now it opened up before him with endless possibilities. Perhaps even some with her. But how to articulate _that_ was lost on him. Thankfully, his love of whimsy found words in his déjà vu.

“We should stop meeting like this, people might talk.”

Her eyebrows raised. “And what might they say?”

“Alone in the courtyard, in the dark of the night, just you and me; professor and student; United Kingdom of Fodlan’s new leader and a devilishly handsome Almyran rogue – the rumours just write themselves.”

A tiny smile started to form and with her, that was as close to blushing as you could get. Emboldened, he was running with it.

“And last time we met like this we made a promise to meet again. Think of all the tales they’ll spin about what we’ve promised tonight.”

As he stepped towards her, Byleth tilted her head, her hair washing over her shoulder. “Do we need to promise anything? Surely, you are coming back.”

Claude smirked. “You’re not giving these poor, bored gossipers much to go on. They’ll have to make up something really ridiculous – like a torrid love affair or a marriage proposal.”

The shrinking gap between them made his hands shake. He had never been this close to her outside of battle. There was only the whistling wind and their breathing, rhythmic and in sync. The cold of her palm on his nearly made him jump, as she laced her fingers between his. The shaking stopped. Everything stopped.

If he passed out now, it would be totally worth it.

The words gathered on Byleth’s lips, begging to be spoken. _Don’t go. Stay. Promise me you’ll come back._ But she could see his smile, wide and lopsided, happiness shimmering in his eyes. His eyes had so often been empty, the crack in his mask. But now, as a bright future unfolded before him, he was happy.

She squeezed his hands and smothered the words. There was no place for them, not yet.

“Try not to worry about the gossipers; we’ll be too busy talking about all the amazing things you’re doing in Almyra,” Byleth hummed, soft and almost lost in the silence.

He tried to stop his head from spinning. What was this? He was Claude von Reigan, he knew how to keep his cool. It was just a mercenary, goddess wielding, beautiful woman who could easily crush him in a fight holding his hands with her lips only a breath away from his. No big deal.

“I am pretty amazing,” his voice broke over the syllables and he frowned. Her chuckling didn’t help. “But it would be a shame to only hear about my exploits through idle gossip. We should write each other.”

Her laughter subsided; maybe his smooth recovery had worked, or she just found the voice crack endearing. He drew her closer and wrapped her in his arms. The rise and fall of her chest ebbed with his. She buried her head in his shoulder, her breath warming him whilst his head nestled on top of hers. He nearly commented on the brilliantly green locks she sported, somehow still surprising him to this day, but he was afraid speaking might shatter the peace.

Claude had never imagined how slight she would feel held close to him. She had always been Teach, the unbeatable and unbreakable. A literal god among men. But now the woman, the mystery he could never quite figure out felt tangible and real. How long they stood there for, neither could be sure. But it was safe and it was quiet, and that moment was theirs alone.

**_\---_ **

The messenger interrupted Byleth’s trip down memory lane. This moment often rose up through the haze of her past when she let her mind drift. Day dreaming was a dangerous game – she didn’t want Claude to get any more confident if he found out she was thinking about him with alarming regularity. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help smiling when the messenger strode into the advisory room and announced he was delivering a letter from Almyra. Claude did have impeccable timing.

It took a surprising amount of self-control for Byleth to make it back to her quarters without a smile and a skip in her step (to the extent that she was capable of). Any perceptible difference in her usually muted behaviour always elicited teasing and probing questions from others. Besides, if any of their friends found out about the letter, they would want to analyse it for clues, discuss Claude’s whereabouts and plan every word of her response.

After a few wrong turns – adjusting to the spiralling towers of Derdriu was taking some time – Byleth settled into her room and unfolded the letter.

**_To the glorious hero of Fódlan,_ **

It was shocking how easily that man could make her deadpan from another country.

**_Oh, mighty leader, I am but humbled that you would spare me even a moment of your time. Like me, you must be extremely busy with many administrative and bureaucratic tasks that are not at all boring._ **

Boring as they might be, she enjoyed reading about his exploits. Even far away, it felt like their usual debriefs after each battle and tactics meeting. Things were taking longer than expected in Almyra, but he was making progress. He apologised for his delay in responding, citing a rather difficult encounter with bandits and a shoulder injury that she would be impressed by. She could almost hear his voice as she read each line and imagine his smirk as he wrote his thinly veiled bragging.

It would not be inaccurate to say she started working on her response immediately. She had been suffocated by Seteth, by the church’s demands and obfuscating, by the role she had been so unexpectedly thrust into. So it was comforting to have a familiar ear, one who knew the pressures of leading a fractured land. One who was not entirely unfortunate looking either.

**_6 Ethereal Moon_ **

**_Claude,_ **

**_You do much to flatter me, although I do wonder what you hope to achieve by putting these compliments in writing. Perhaps I should be wary of words from the master tactician…_ **

**_Seteth continues to work to restore the authority of the Church of Seiros and has now supplied me with study materials for the religious ceremonies…_ **

**_As you might know, Leonie left Derdriu to join my father’s mercenaries and from all accounts, she has enjoyed much success with them. But the inns they have frequented have not…_ **

As the month progressed, the next letter came even later than usual. But still Byleth read it, an escape from the bureaucracy and study, and then wrote out her reply.

**_20 Guardian Moon_ **

**_Claude,_ **

**_I am pleased to hear you have met with the Almyran leaders…_ **

**_Lysithea returned home a few weeks ago. She wishes to ensure her parents are safe in their growing age in case ~~she should pass~~ the worst should happen. I suggested she consider travelling to Garreg Mach to seek out Hanneman’s support, but she refused. I worry she may be avoiding Cyril…_ **

**_It will surely surprise you to hear Sylvain continues to wreak havoc amongst women and men alike, although now in the Gautier territory and not amongst the nuns of Garreg Mach. You did say recruiting him would be entertaining, but I have to wonder at what cost…_ **

Time marched onwards. Pegasus Moon came and went, with the cold winds and heavy snows slowing all communication. When the next month came, his letter was short. Things were not going well in Almyra. Nor were they in Fódlan as the walls seemed to be closing in on Byleth. More and more reports of splinter groups from Those Who Slither in the Dark emerged; thieves were still active around Garreg Mach and terrorising villages; Seteth was the ever-present reminder of her duties, refusing to allow her to join the battles. She was too vital to the survival of the fragile Fódlan. Rhea would never join a fight. She must learn to do the same. So she watched people fight for her, die for her, in her gilded tower. And she felt the hollow in her chest grow, a well into which her emotions poured and threatened to spill over.

**_27 Lone Moon_ **

**_Claude,_ **

**_~~I am not sure where to start~~ _ **

**_~~I am relieved to hear you are safe~~ _ **

**_Many of our friends have travelled to their homes since your last letter. With the storms, you may not have heard from them either. Hilda and Marianne left Derdriu together; they are to visit Marianne’s father first before Hilda travels to see her brother. As they left, Hilda was still chatting away about Holst and I am sure I saw Marianne smile…_ **

**_Raphael sends his love; he assures me his cooking and muscles are more impressive than ever as he has been helping his sister at the inn and training as a knight for his lord. His sister even sent me something she had baked, although it did not survive the transport well…_ **

**_Ignatz returned home before the weather turned; he has found success as both a knight and a painter. He tells me he has started work on a painting of us all…_ **

**_Next month, I am travelling to Garreg Mach so my letters may be delayed…_ **

But next month, no letter came from Claude nor from any others. In Garreg Mach, the new year arrived and so did the silence.

Byleth had chosen to stay in her father’s old quarters – Rhea’s felt wrong, still haunted by her. His quarters were filled with his memory rather than his ghost. She sat at his desk, the surface still chipped from his boots as he’d sit slumped in the chair and legs propped up after a long night. In this room, she just felt like herself – not the stand in for Rhea, not the leader of Fódlan, not the hero. Just Byleth.

The blank paper stared back at her. She couldn’t exactly write that thought, it just made her sound ungrateful. But she didn’t want to talk about what happened. She didn’t want to put all these feelings into words.

**_23 Great Tree Moon_ **

**_Claude,_ **

**_I hope you celebrated the new year as you always did…_ **

No, that didn’t sound right. He must have heard there were no celebrations here. Only the quiet and the mourning. Avoiding it would be pointless. She scrapped the paper and started again.

**_23 Great Tree Moon_ **

**_Claude,_ **

**_I am sure you have heard that ~~we lost~~ Rhea ~~died~~ passed as the new year came. We held a silence and a burial in the Holy Tomb with ~~Sothis~~ …_ **

A weight hung on her chest, crushing her breath away. Her hands shook and she scribbled out the name until it became only a mass of black ink. It was still etched in her mind. She was gone and now her daughter was too, buried in her mother’s tomb. Not even with her mother’s remains, which instead sat propped against the far corner of this room. It made Byleth’s stomach turn.

One more try.

**_23 Great Tree Moon_ **

**_Claude,_ **

**_When Rhea passed, I was not sure what to do. Seteth seemed more determined than ever to use the church to comfort the people as they mourned…_ **

**_Cyril would not leave her room for days. He blamed himself and when Catherine and I finally coaxed him from the room, his tears still came. It took time to bring him back. Catherine left to find Shamir once she knew Cyril was eating; I promised to look after him…_ **

**_But Cyril left only days ago. We spoke about loss and about time with those we love. He told me he is going to find Lysithea…_ **

**_So it seems ~~all my students and colleagues~~ all my friends have gone and forged their own paths –_ **

Byleth groaned and scrunched up the paper. Each draft cried out her isolation like a flashing beacon begging for his return. This was not her. She did not pine after someone far away. She had lost many along the way and she had always recovered. She had lost even her father – shame washed over her as she remembered him. His face was slipping away, becoming frayed at the edges by time. She memorised his features again. She would not let him fade. Time would not take him.

The moon was high and a starry blanket had settled over the monastery as Byleth wandered from her room. Where she was going, she did not know. She just needed to get out. Most corridors were empty bar the occasional guard who nodded and quickly shuffled along. As she wound around corner after corner, she kept following her feet until the crisp midnight air washed over her. Blinking, she saw stairs down to a grassy balcony below her.

The graveyard was still. Mourners tended to avoid the night hours. But for Byleth, the night meant she could be alone. She often felt lonely surrounded by the church and the lords; rarely was she ever alone though. Kneeling down, she picked away some weeds that threatened to invade Jeralt’s grave. Her father and mother’s grave.

That pain in her chest, that heaviness threatened to suffocate Byleth again. It crowded her, welling up until the aching burned through every inch of her.

She shivered but she did not fight it. Lifting a hand to her collar, she threaded the chain around her neck until she found it: a ring.

‘ _One day, I hope you’ll give this ring to someone you love as well as I love her.’_ Her father had said. She had considered giving it away, all those months ago. But like the words she smothered away, she kept it too. She thought there would be time for that. She always thought there would be more time – with her friends, with Sothis, with her father.

Curling her fingers around it, Byleth hid the ring in her fist as if the world may try to take it from her. She grasped it until she could feel the metal pressing into her palm. She hoped it would leave a mark.

These feelings, they only overwhelmed her more and more each day. The hollow overflow of emotion. The weighted emptiness. She wished for Sothis to return, for her father to return – and sometimes she even wished for the days before the monastery and the students when her feelings barely scratched her surface. When she was numb and nothing ever hurt.

A tear trickled down, cascading onto her clenched fist. Then another. Then more.

As the tears flooded, the sky seemed to cry with her and concealed her in torrential downpour. It rained and she wept. The mud soaked into her robes and she wept. She wept and she wept until the tears burned and dried up.

Everyone had left. Now she was truly, utterly alone.


	2. Freedom

The Sword of the Creator hummed against the velvet cloth as Byleth peeled back the wrapping. It almost warmed to her touch. She tried to imagine how this had been pillaged from Sothis. Ridges dipped and raised along its edge – were these her spine? The guard spread out like rigid wings – her wings? Her ribcage? When her hand found the empty centre where the crest stone would lie, Byleth pressed her other hand to her heart. Silence. But the sword’s humming reverberated up her arm and into her chest. It rattled around, an echo of a heartbeat.

She shivered. Bile raised in her throat. No matter how many times she tried to picture the truth of her sword, her mind batted it away. It was unfathomable. It was all that was left of a god, of her friend, of her.

Still Byleth stared at the sword, eyes rimmed by dark rings and face gaunt until the morning sun streamed through her window. Another sleepless night. Before sun could warm the sword, she wrapped it once again and smothered the humming. She stored it in the wooden bench, hidden from no one in particular. Then as if the sun had roused her into some semblance of life, she dragged herself into her clothes. Her hands still shook as she fastened her buckles and stumbled into her boots.

The knock did not come as it usually did; the moment the clocktower chimed and not a second later. The clock chimed another 5 times and still no knock. Seteth wasn’t one for a lie in. When Byleth grabbed hold of the doorknob and swung it open, she found a pair of grey eyes staring at her. Chestnut hair smoothed back into ponytail that cascaded down her right shoulder; high cheekbones and arched eyebrows; muscles that peaked out under the edge of her sleeves, reminding you she could kick your ass if the time comes: the Hero of Daphnel was a sight for sore eyes. Byleth was not.

“You look like shit.” Judith said, with a half-smile. Byleth simply shrugged and fell in step with the taller woman.

“Are you sleeping?” Again, all she got was a shrug. “Ever the conversationalist; today we need to prepare for the lords’ conference; those holy bastards from the old kingdom territories are particularly sensitive about forgetting their nobility and lands. We need them on side for when that boy returns. I’ll never hear the end of it if things are the same.”

That boy was not what Byleth wanted to think about; her brain was already a pressure cooker – no need to add another emotional timebomb to it. She steered the conversation elsewhere.

“House Gautier, Galatea and most feudal lords already pledged their support when the United Kingdom was founded, but I doubt Fraldarius has moved past what happened at the Battle at Gronder,”

Judith watched as Byleth reflected on the battle, her memory hazy with exhaustion, before replying. “It will take time and a certain amount of ego soothing; Gaspard and Rowe will need buttering up as well. They need to be shown that this new united Fódlan is better for everyone, noble or commoner.”

“What about the church?” She pressed her lips into a firm line and narrowed her green eyes, dropping her voice quieter. “They may choose loyalty to the church over us if we move forward.”

“Then we show them this isn’t about abolishing the church, it’s reformation. If we keep pushing, we will get the difficult one on side–” Judith meant Seteth but using his name in a church corridor often somehow summoned him from the depths of a nearby room. “–and we can finally bring the truth to the people, with you leading that change.”

She clapped a hand on Byleth’s shoulder and squeezed. She didn’t notice the discomfort hidden behind the leader’s mask or the tightness that pulled at her chest again, knocking the breath out. People said that so often: you will lead, you will change everything. Each time it just added more weight to the pressure that followed Byleth. She was fettered and trapped.

But she quickly pushed those thoughts away. She could not relive that night in the graveyard, especially not in front of Judith. No more crying. There had been no sleep since then either. She just lay awake, thoughts bubbling to the surface again and again, louder each time she tried to drown them out. She thought until her temples ached and her eyes were heavy. Still, sleep never came.

“Are you even listening?” Judith interrupted. There was concern in her eyes behind the annoyance. “We have to meet with the church and the lords in a few hours and you need to focus. Read; train the knights; go for a walk – I don’t care what you do, just turn up on time and get out of whatever this is.”

Byleth didn’t have the stomach for more church or Fódlan study, nor did she want to train with whichever poor knight would stare at her, knees knocking and holding their sword with a limp wrist. A walk seemed the best option. Garreg Mach was still waking up. Crouched bodies knelt in the cathedral for their morning prayers, candles burned almost to the bottom overnight. The halls were empty though, and her footsteps echoed through to the grand painted ceilings. There were voices bustling in the kitchens accompanied by pots clattering and knives dicing up breakfast. With most people still asleep, she could travel freely and perhaps find somewhere to escape her mind for a time. Maybe she would visit the marketplace to watch the merchants open their stalls, or perhaps the greenhouse to see the earliest bloomers.

As she descended through the entrance hall and into the fresh air, waiting to be hit by the market’s morning hubbub, Byleth instead found a familiar voice. It was honey sweet and even in her fatigue, made her smile a little.

“Greetings, Professor!” The gatekeeper beamed, wearing the wide grin that comforted anyone entering the monastery. “Although I guess I shouldn’t call you professor anymore, should I?”

If Byleth was the hugging type, she would have pulled this man, armour and all, into the biggest embrace. She never realised how much she’d miss his warmth until she returned to Garreg Mach and found him gone. His replacement was decidedly duller. That man scowled and grunted and complained about gate duty, not like the faithful gatekeeper before her.

“I’d prefer it if you did, reminds me of old times,” her smile grew a little more. She had missed smiling too. “And if you stopped calling me professor, I’d have to stop calling you gatekeeper.”

He contorted into an overly dramatic grimace. “Please don’t, I hate the name Porter,” he had faced enough jokes about his name; gatekeeper was much easier and far less comical. He didn’t falter in his enthusiasm though. “How have you been, Professor?”

A short answer felt easiest; that was too complicated a question to unpack. “Just busy.”

“I’d hoped now all your students have flown the nest, you’d take a break and relax. You’ve got to be careful not to overwork yourself.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Says the gatekeeper who has diligently guarded this gate for years on end.”

“Making people smile at this glorious entrance is hardly work to me,” his smile shifted, becoming shy. “But surely you noticed I wasn’t here for the last few months.”

There was something he was itching to tell; it was clear from his shuffling feet and pursed lips. “Of course, I did; where did you go?”

His cheeks reddened and the words tumbled out of him breathlessly. “My partner and I were married! When the war ended, we knew we couldn’t wait any longer.”

The gatekeeper was practically vibrating with each word, his blush deepening and his heart threatening to burst free. Beneath the rim of his helmet, his eyes were bright and full of wonder.

“Your partner?” His delight was infectious and Byleth felt the lightest she had in months. “Where did you two meet?”

“You’ll laugh at me; when you returned after all those years, I thought about that time we spoke about the Goddess Tower – about how I had a wish, but couldn’t find anyone to make it with me. It was silly. My wish had been for happiness and peace, and I had forgotten about it after so many years of war. When we returned to Garreg Mach, when I saw you again, I thought about that wish,”

He stared wistfully at nothing in particular. “I visited the Goddess Tower my first night back; we never did get to celebrate the millennium festival so maybe the goddess would be still listening for wishes. Maybe she would keep us safe, keep you safe. You can’t imagine how embarrassed I was when I wasn’t alone in the tower! Kneeling on the ground, praying to the moon and wishing for world peace! And it was a knight who found me, one of the newer recruits – I could just see him telling all the other knights about me, and making jokes about it every time he went through the gate,”

“But he didn’t say a word, just knelt down next to me and prayed. We just sort of stuck together ever since. I watched him leave for every mission and waited here at the gate until he returned, safe and sound. I didn’t think we’d both survive the war, so when we did, I guess it was just time to make it official.”

Every inch of Byleth’s resolve was melting away. She felt like she was wrapped in the softest fleece and all her sharp edges were blunted. Such a beautiful moment out of all that death and horror, a future with someone he clearly loved – it was written all over his goofy glowing face. There was a question though, working its way through the congratulations that Byleth showered him with.

“But why are you back now?”

“He’s still a knight and I’m still the gatekeeper. I get to keep an eye on him, watch him leave and come home from every mission so I know he’s okay. We get to see each other every day when he’s here and this is our home really.”

Byleth rested a hand on his armour-clad shoulder and nodded, barely registering the affectionate gesture before she did it. He looked so delighted; his cheeks would hurt for days.

“Plus I could never leave you, Professor,” his chuckle was as hearty and joyful as ever. “Seteth would never let me!”

Just as the tender moment bonded the two, dredging up the nostalgia of when the monastery was filled with Byleth’s closest friends and even her family, footsteps rushed up the staircase. Metal clanked as the guard skidded to a stop before the two. Byleth caught him, hands under his elbows as crimson seeped through the cracks in his armour. He choked out his words between gasps

“Bandits,” he wheezed, legs buckling. “Attacking the morning supply route.”

“Gatekeeper,” she shifted the injured man into the gatekeeper’s arms before snatching the guard’s sword from its sheath. “Bring him inside and call for any remaining knights to assemble. I will scout ahead.”

Just like old times, Byleth bolted down the steps and out the gate with the gatekeeper shouting behind her: “Good luck, Professor!”

**\---**

This was Byleth’s element. She was a tactician, a fighter, a mercenary. As she held off the bandits alongside other guards, her feelings went numb again. She did not feel sadness, anxiety or loneliness. She only felt the sword in her hands and the adrenaline of battle. She remembered her father’s training, anticipating an enemy’s move and countering it, using the terrain to your advantage, holding out for reinforcements. It was exhilarating.

As she saw the knights coming over the crest of the hill, she dispatched another bandit and threw him aside. The bandit leader, teeth clenched and veins popping out of his forehead, turned his fury on her. This all felt familiar.

“You bitch,” he spat. “This is your fault.”

Attacking her now in fury would be a desperate attempt to win; she would easily knock him off balance and his men would retreat. Still, he gripped his sword and charged. She waited for her opening. Just a moment and this would be done.

_Seteth would never let you…_

A voice split through. Unfamiliar, cold. It slithered up her mind and echoed, growing louder.

_Seteth would never let you leave._

The shock took her for only a second, but a second was all he needed. The sword ran through her shoulder, sending fire pouring down her left side and alarm bells blaring in her ears. She tried to regain herself. Gripping the hilt, she ripped it from the bandit and kicked him away before stumbling back. Arrows whistled by her, splintering the man’s chest into a mess of gore and wood. The knights were coming. They’d still won.

She could rewind; she hadn’t done it in a long time, but she could feel the power thrumming in her fingertips. Rewind, focus, counter. It would stop the screaming in her shoulder, the hot blood pouring between her fingers, the burning cold frying her nerves.

That voice laughed. _They will never set you free, but the pain always does._

Her ears pounded out the noise as she found the ground, eyes glossed over. Darkness set in, it swallowed her. Maybe someone pulled the sword free, pressed their hands over her wound and hollered for help. Maybe not. But somehow, she couldn’t be afraid; she couldn’t feel. It was just the searing cold and the darkness.


End file.
